


Something Wicked

by miss_grey



Series: What We Do In The Dark [7]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gene being his usual sexy self, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, Supernatural AU - Freeform, mysterious gene, poor clueless babe, protective bill guarnere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: Bill sends Babe to pick up a package, and Babe realizes he should start asking more questions.





	Something Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, I hope you enjoy what I've got here for you. It's been building for a while, and Gene is the second reason I started writing this AU. :)

 

 

Four days ago, in South Philly….

 

 

Bill folded his hands on the table and cocked an eyebrow, leaning forward to give his friend his best _I’m serious, here,_ look.  “Look, Babe, you know the deal.  Everyone has to do their part.  This time it’s your turn.”

Babe slouched petulantly across the diner table from Bill, his best friend since they were little.  “I get it, Bill, alright,” he whined, “I just don’t understand why _this_ is my responsibility.  Or why I have to go alone.”

Bill grimaced and motioned for the waitress to bring more coffee.  After she’s topped the mug off and retreated, he said “I hear you Babe.  It’s like this, though—we’ve all got our uses, right?  Everyone’s got their own talents and individual…circumstances.  This particular errand requires yours.  You wouldn’t wanna let the boys down, would you?”

And that was a low blow, and Bill knew it.  “Of course I won’t let everyone down.  I just… don’t understand, that’s all.  Can you at least explain it again?  And tell me why I have to go alone?”

Bill huffed a breath.  “Alright.  You know we have…business partners…all over the place for our various enterprises.  The kind of business partners that don’t like questions and require a lot of trust.  You know, this, Babe.  You grew up in the neighborhood.  Now, me and the boys, we’ve always taken care of you, ain’t we?”

“’Course, Bill.”

“Alright.  Well, I ain’t about to stop doing that now.  This isn’t a dangerous errand, so long as you do what you’re told.  There’s a package that needs to be picked up.  It can’t be sent through the mail and our supplier doesn’t do courier services.  He insists on it being hand delivered.  He also insists that we go to him.  And he won’t allow more than one person to show up.”

“Okay.  But why can’t someone come with me just for the ride, and like…stay in the car, or a motel or something?”

Bill shook his head.  “Because he’d know, Babe, alright.  Just trust me on this one.”

“But how would he know, Bill?  See, it’s things like that you say that make me really worried about this.  I mean, who is this guy?  Is he…like…a NARC or something?  Or…hell, I dunno, Bill.  How would he know?”

“He just does.”  Bill took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax.  “Look, he’s an okay guy.  He won’t do anything if you don’t do anything.  But I need you to do this for us.  He’s the only one who can supply this particular product.  And this particular product is crucial to the continued success of our operations.  Got it?  Do this errand, save the neighborhood.  Alright?  How’s that sound?”

Babe continued to frown, but after warring with himself for a moment, he finally conceded.  “Yeah, alright.  For you, Bill.  And for the neighborhood.  I’ll do it.”

“Good.”  Bill said.  “It shouldn’t take you more than a week.  Go there, get the package, come back.”  He drained his coffee.  “Now finish your sandwich, Babe.  Your ma’s right.  You’re too damn skinny.”

 

* * *

 

 

Babe never asked too many questions.  He’d learned growing up that it wasn’t something you should do.  Not about business, anyway.  His ma always told him just to be grateful for what he had, and to not look a gift horse in the mouth, whatever the hell that meant.  So he never asked how his ma was able to feed him and all her other kids working as a nurse, and he never asked what the guys were talking about when they had their “meetings” in the basement of Toye’s bar.  The times he asked questions were few: when one of his buddies came home roughed up, Babe asked if he needed some backup.  When his friends said they were going out on some business, Babe asked what they needed him to do.  And when Bill was starting to look stressed, and seemed to keeping secrets, Babe asked if he was gonna be alright.  He didn’t ask much more than that.  Babe didn’t know exactly what the business was, but he’d seen enough movies to guess.  And, well, his morality and his religious upbringing aside, Babe knew he’d do whatever the guys in the neighborhood asked of him.  He was loyal like that.

Which meant he currently found himself in Penkala’s borrowed beige Toyota Corolla, hauling ass south on I-95.  Bill still hadn’t told him what the package was, just that it was essential, and that it had to be picked up in person.  He’s said the supplier was an okay guy, but Babe had his doubts.  After all, what the hell kind of merchandise required this kind of cloak and dagger rigmarole?  He’d known narcotics dealers who were less secretive than this.  Though, most of them were currently doing time, so maybe there was something to be said for doing things the long way round.

And so he drove.  And slept.  And ate.  And drank enough energy drinks that Bill would slap him for it.  And drove some more.

When Babe hit the Louisiana border, he started to sweat.  And not just because he was nervous, but because the air had gotten thick, soupy, and it clung to his skin.  It soaked into the threads of his clothes and pressed them into his body, so that he felt like he was suffocating, or trying to breathe underwater.  He’d never been so far south in his life, and he couldn’t blame Bill now for not coming along, but he would’ve appreciated the warning.

Then the roads went to shit, the further south he got, broken on the interstate, and twisted, bent, as he turned on to smaller highways and local roads.  He started to understand what a swamp was, and why guys might wanna be afraid of them.  Green, and wet, pulsing, stinking, slimy life surrounded him and encroached on the roads, so that sometimes, the pavement ended in bulging tree roots and thick, creeping vines pulling out of dark water covered with dark, bubbling algae.  And Babe knew that anything could be in there.  Snakes.  Alligators.  Bodies.  And you’d never know.  _God,_ he hoped this package was worth it.

 

 

 

Babe stared down at the scrawled address that Bill had given him.  It made very little sense.  Babe had tried to input it into his GPS, but it didn’t work, and even his phone got patchy service down here.  Babe wondered if this guy even lived on a real road, or whether Babe was gonna have to get out of the car and march through this nightmare.  Eventually, Babe was forced to stop the car and reference the map again, but even then, not every road was clearly marked.  Bill had given him an address, alright, but it was basically useless.  It might as well say _The Doc, Somewhere in the Bayou._ Babe figured he’d have just as good a’ luck finding him.

 

 

 

 

Eventually, after driving aimlessly for long enough to frustrate him, Babe pulled into the cracked, sunken parking lot of a bar that was busy already before noon.  He figured he’d get a bite to eat and hopefully ask some locals for directions.

Inside, the place smelled like grease and alcohol, a mix he was at least familiar with, though Toye kept a neater place than this.  The handful of locals cast him tired, but suspicious glances as he walked in.  And he couldn’t blame ‘em.  He was tall, gangly, red-headed and spoke with a Philly accent.  Anyone could spot from a mile away that he didn’t belong here.  Still, he smiled and settled himself on a stool at the bar.  The bartender was a middle aged woman, tired-looking and dark-haired, with blue eyeshadow she’d put on too thick.  “Hi,” Babe said, “do you all serve any food?”

The woman shrugged a single shoulder as she said “Yeah, we got some food.  What do ya want—we’ve got some chicken?”

“Sure,” Babe agreed quickly, “sounds great.  And a uh, water, please.  Thanks.”  He smiled at those gathered around him, teeth too bright in the dim light of the bar.  God, the air was thick and stifling in here, too.  A moment later, a plate of fried chicken and a glass of iced cold water was plunked down on the bar in front of him, and despite all of Babe’s misgivings, he realized he was ravenous.  “Awesome.  Looks delicious.”  He said, right before he sank his teeth into his meal.  It _was_ pretty good.  “Hey, uh…I’m sure you can tell I’m not from these parts, and I’m a bit lost right now.  I was wondering if any of you could help me with some directions.”  Babe said, addressing the few patrons and the bartender.

“Where you headed?”  An elderly man, hunched over next to Babe, asked.

“Oh, uh…this is Bayou Chene, right?”

“Tha’s right.”

“I’m looking for…I think it’s a road…called Wisteria Creek?”

The bar suddenly got silent, and Babe didn’t think he was imaging it.  “What business you got over there?”  Another woman said, peeking around the old man.  She had dark, sharp eyebrows, that were drawn tight over even darker eyes.

“Um… I’m supposed to meet someone.  He goes by The Doc?”  The bartender chuckled, but it was a dark sound, and it gave Babe shivers.  “Have you all heard of him?  Is he there?”

The bartender snorted.  “Oh, he’s there.  You shoulda said at the beginnin’ who you were lookin’ for.  Here, I’ll draw you a map.  Whichever one you have is probably wrong.”  And so she took a napkin from off the top of the bar and sketched a map for Babe.  Despite the shiver of apprehension he’d gotten, he was thankful for the directions.

“Thanks.  I appreciate it.  And uh…thanks for the lunch.”  Then, before he could allow himself to get any more creeped out, he laid a ten on the bar, grabbed his map, and left.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The roads grew progressively narrower, twisting, and occasionally dipping off into swamp.  He hadn’t seen any houses for a few miles now.  Babe was growing more worried by the minute, but he wasn’t about to back out now, even if this Doc guy was likely to be some old, grizzled, terrifying backwoods hick.  He’d told Bill he’d do it, and he would.

Still, when he came to the narrow drive with the hand-painted sign that read _Wisteria Creek,_ he felt his stomach tighten.  Last chance to turn back.  Babe took a deep breath, then slowly drove down the lane, the car trundling along over deep ruts, some of which were filled with stagnant water.  He drove for a while, no apparent end in sight; dense trees obscured his view of what might be at the end of the lane.

Finally, though, the lane opened up to a clearing with a small house perched in the middle.  It was old, looking to have been built in the style of the 1920s or 30s, with thick wooden slats and a tin roof.  A large covered porch jutted out from the main house with a rocking chair facing toward the lane.  All sorts of bells and wooden chimes clattered from the rafters of the porch and Babe could hear them from within his car.  _Shit,_ he thought, _I’m gonna die here, I know it._   He couldn’t seem to make himself move, even though he knew as soon as he finished this business, he could be on the road again and on his way out of here.  Still, he found himself sitting in the car, engine killed, trying to gather his nerves.  He was so focused on the front door of the house that he failed to notice the figure emerging from the trees to his left, until it stood darkly next to his car and rapped sharply on his window.  Babe jumped and jerked his eyes toward the window.  He had to take a moment to comprehend what he saw.

Standing next to his door was a young man maybe a few years older than him, and more beautiful than anything Babe had ever seen in his life.  His hair was so dark it almost glinted blue in the sun, and despite the brightness of the Louisiana weather, the man was paler than Babe, with dark brows and even darker, fathomless lies.  His face was impassive.  He was dressed in a simple pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt, though both items of clothing seemed to be smudged with dirt or some other such swamp mess.  He had a streak of it running up his neck and across one cheek as well.  Babe took all of this in in a second, then his hand was moving before his brain caught up and he was opening his door to stand.  The man took a graceful step back, eyes still fixed firmly on Babe.

“Who are you?”  The man asked, and _holy shit,_ the deep lilt of his voice was the sexiest thing Babe had ever heard—it sent a shiver right down his spine.

Babe gulped and held out a hand.  “My name is Babe.  Babe Heffron.”  He chuckled nervously.  “I’m here on behalf of Bill Guarnere.  Sorry, but some locals gave me directions—I’m looking for someone who calls himself The Doc.”

The man’s lips twitched, just slightly.  He ignored Babe’s hand and leaned forward, minutely, and _strangely,_ sniffed the air.  “Hmmm,” he said, “you ain’t a dog, but you sho smell like one.”  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and nodded his head toward the house.  “Come on, then.”

Babe sputtered, but followed behind the beautiful stranger.  “Okay… are you taking me to see The Doc?”

The man ignored his question.  “What’s yo Christian name?  It’s hard to believe it’s Babe.”  He called over his shoulder.

Babe followed him up the drive, then up the porch steps, then into the shaded interior of a living room. Babe was immediately struck by the bunches of plants hung from the ceiling—he had to duck a couple times—and the shelves all around the room that were filled with books and jars and bottles.  “Uh…it’s Edward,” Babe said, voice small in the strange space. “But only the nuns call me that.”

“Edward,” the man repeated, and _jesus,_ the name sounded like sin on his lips.  “That’s a good name.”  The man turned and finally smiled at Babe.  His eyes were even darker inside.  The man motioned for Babe to take a seat in one of the wooden chairs near an open hearth.  _What in the world would he need a fireplace for in this place?  It’s so damn hot._ “I have good news and bad news for you, Edward.  Which do you want first?”

Babe frowned.  He figured might as well get it over with.  “Bad first.”

“Alright,” the man drawled, “the bad news is I don’t have the package ready fo’ you yet.”

Babe winced.  “And the good news?”

The man smirked.  “I’m workin’ on it.”

“Okay,” Babe said.  “Alright, so… what does that mean?”

“It means you can come back for it when it’s done, or you can stay here and wait.  Either don’t bother me.”

“Okay.  How long?”

The man shrugged.  “A day or two, probably.”

“What?!”  Babe yelped.  “But… I thought it was…pressing?  And I don’t have anywhere to sleep!”

The man’s dark brows pulled down in a frown.  “Pressing is all a matter of perspective.  Everyone who comes to see me has pressing business.  But some’s mo’ pressin’ than others.”

“Wait a second,” Babe said, finally catching up to everything this man had said.  “So… _you’re_ The Doc?!”

The man quirked a brow.  “I am.”  He shook his head.  “Did they tell you nothin’?”

“No,” Babe muttered, “they didn’t.”

The man hummed to himself for a second, his eyes already taking on a preoccupied look.  “Well, I suppose that might suit them.”

“So, uh… what should I do in the meantime?”  Babe asked, suddenly feeling even more unsure than before.

“Like I said, you can go get yo’self some place to sleep, or you can stay here and make yo’self useful.  Doesn’t matter to me.”

Babe was terrified of staying, but even more terrified of venturing out of here and facing whatever or whoever he might find wandering around the Bayou.  “I’ll stay, and uh..help, I guess.  Doc.”  He said.

The man cast a glance at Babe from over his shoulder as he fiddled with some jars on the mantle.  “Call me Gene.”

Babe released a breath, slowly.  “Alright.  Gene.”  As Gene continued to fiddle with the bottles, turning them to read their labels, lifting and inspecting them, Babe asked, “So, uh… what kind of doctor are you, exactly?”

Gene didn’t even bother glancing at Babe as he said “I’m a..specialist…of a kind.”

“Specialist.  Huh.”  Babe muttered.  He glanced around again at the strange décor and thought to himself _what the hell kind of specialist requires this stuff?_ “So, uh… you said to make myself useful.  Anything I can help with?”

Gene hummed under his breath for a second before he said  “You see that bunch of purple flowers to your left?”

Babe looked to his left and found a bunch hanging from the ceiling.  “Yeah?”

“Grab those and a mortar and pestle and start grindin’ ‘em to a powder.”

“Sure,” Babe said, “I can do that.”  Then, because he didn’t wanna piss this guy off messing with things he shouldn’t, he asked “Can you point out a mortar and pestle?  I don’t really know what they are.”

Gene finally turned to look at him, and Babe was struck all over by how beautiful the man was.  He stared at Babe for a moment, then pulled a bowl-looking thing and a thick wooden stick thing from a shelf and passed them to Babe.  “It has to be a powder.”  He instructed.

“Sure,” Babe said.  So he sat down and got to work, doing what this strange doctor told him to.  All he knew was that Bill was gonna have a hell of a lot of explaining to do when Babe made it back to Philly.

 

 

 

 

Gene eventually sat across from Babe with an assortment of jars and herbs around him, and a large wooden bowl in the middle where he threw bits of plants and powders.  Every so often, he directed Babe to hand him something, or to count petals or leaves from one of the jars.  Babe admired Gene’s focus but at the same time, he was utterly bewildered by what they were doing and how he’d found himself in this situation.

“So, uh, Gene,” Babe found himself asking a couple hours later just to break the silence, “do you often let strange guys into your home and put ‘em to work?”

Gene smirked, just barely.  “Often enough.”  He admitted.

And okay, so maybe that was a twinge of jealously Babe felt in the pit of his stomach, but there was also something else.  Worry.  For two reasons.  One, it was dangerous to let strangers into your home, and he worried about this weird, backwoods, beautiful hermit guy.  Two, he worried because said strange guy seemed completely unconcerned by it, which meant Babe should probably be concerned for himself.  This guy was probably a crazy, beautiful, murderer.  “Don’t you, uh, think that’s dangerous?”

“No,” Gene shrugged.  “I’m safe enough here.  No one who steps foot into my home means me any harm.”

Babe’s eyebrows rose with surprise.  “That’s a very sunny way of looking at people.”

Gene chuckled.  “Maybe.  But people only seek me out when they need my help.  Doesn’t help them if they hurt me.  Plus, the bad types never can seem to find their way here.”

Well, that was a weird thing to say, but Babe figured he’d leave it alone.  For now, at least.  “So, uh… how long have you known Bill?”

Gene plucked the leaves off of a spiky plant.  “A few years now.  Ever since he and the rest of the Philly pack asked for my help.”

_Pack?_ That was a weird thing to call the Philly Crew.  Babe was about to comment, when a shrill ringing interrupted him. 

Gene sighed and pushed back from the table with his supplies so that he could stand.  He made his way into the connected kitchen and plucked a phone from the wall.  Babe was shocked that the man even had a telephone—it didn’t seem like that much technology should exist here.  He wasn’t surprised, however, that he didn’t seem to have a cell phone. 

Babe didn’t _mean_ to eavesdrop, but still, he found himself listening in as Gene answered with his deep, sexy voice.  “Hello?”  The person on the other end of the line must have answered, because then Gene said “Harry.  It’s been a while.  What do you need this time?”  Gene was silent as he listened, then he sighed and ran a hand roughly down his face.  “Yeah, okay.”  He said.  “Give me a bit and I’ll call you back, alright?”  Then Gene sat the phone back in the cradle and cursed.  “ _Merde,”_ he growled, his eyes meeting Babe’s.  “Goddamn demons.”

Babe stared at Gene for a second, his brain sluggishly trying to process what the man had just said.  Finally, the words caught up to Babe and he sputtered: “ _What?!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments give me life. Please let me know what you think! Also, feel free to come find me on tumblr @realhunterswearplaid.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Something wicked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266811) by [Lysel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysel/pseuds/Lysel)




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